It was a beautiful morning. The short walk from his apartment to the gym wasn't as awful as Connor had expected, the fresh air easing his limbs and relieving his tension. He stopped in front of the old gym and looked around. Nothing had changed in the last two months. The bike path, the walkway and the cracks in the wall are all the same faded colour. He can recall each slab for as long as he can remember, touch them, and feel the texture that has greeted him in the summers and winters of his life. Everything appeared to be the same as it had been for a long time, as if time had stopped.

He climbed a couple flights of stairs and opened the gym door. He was greeted by the smell of sweat, plastic, and iron, all of which had been mixed together to create an entirely new fragrance. It was both pleasant and unpleasant at the same time, and it warmed Connor’s chest but made him feel raw around the edges. The familiar scent of home that will never be the same again.

The gym was exactly the same as Connor remembered it. To the left of the main hall stood the boxing ring, which was wide and square and surrounded by red and blue ropes. A short corridor to the left led to the showers and a small room that Aaron converted into a small clinic with a single bed for minor injuries or anyone who needed to rest in between workouts. On the right side of the ring, was a wall of mirrors, and next to it was a small plastic table and numerous chairs adjacent to it. A door on the far right led to Aaron's office, a dingy, cramped space. 

“Connor!” Max's gleaming eyes locked with his as he strode over like a bulldozer, clutching Connor in his arms so tightly that he thought he'd shatter a rib.

”You look horrible!” his voice tittering strangely.

"I missed you too, buddy," Connor chuckled as he collapsed into Max's tight embrace, his worries soothed by his familiar scent. He realised he was both terrified and relieved to see Max, but he didn't know why.

When Max released his bone-crushing hug, Connor realized, for the first time, how important Max's presence is in his life. He was furious with himself. He'd made a mistake by keeping Max at arm's length for the past two months. How selfish and arrogant that decision was. Is.

Seeing Max’s face, however, deepened the hole in his heart. How can he act so...normal? As if nothing happened? Connor shook his head, rejecting the thought.

"God, we've got so much to do today!" Max grumbled, "Dad wants this place spotless for tomorrow’s meeting. You can clean the floors while I hang the new punching bags. Ok?" Connor nodded and picked up the broom.

Max yawned and stretched. "It's too early for me, man. Isn't it typical for mobsters to work at night? How did they schedule a meeting so early in the morning?”

"Mobsters? What are you talking about?" Connor replied.

"You think those ‘investors’, as Dad referred to them, are businessmen? They're thugs! I heard they're interested in purchasing this place because it's on the outskirts of town.”

No, it's not possible. Connor pondered. What’s going on?

They swept the floor, cleaned the windows, dusted the equipment and rearranged the small meeting table. Max was babbling the entire time, and Connor was just listening. He listened to him talk about everything that had happened to him in the previous two months. How he constantly argues with his father, giving him a hard time just for the fun of it. How he went on three dates with three different girls and how, of course, it was their fault that it didn't work out. He spoke about the boxing matches he won, and the ones he lost. There was something soothing about listening to Max.

It was simple. Normal.

Connor felt his muscles relaxing and his body easing up. Normalcy was settling in, and he liked it.

Finally, after nearly three hours of cleaning, Max picked up a punching bag from the floor, grabbed the metal chain, and hung it from the steel hook on the ceiling. The metal chains shook and rattled and Connor squirmed in response to the horrific sound.

He then raised another punching bag, and another, the chains rattling with each movement, sending a hideous sensation through Connor's body. His breathing got shallow as cold sweat formed on his brow. He tried to shake the noise, he tried to focuse on Max's voice, but it slowly faded away, leaving just the rattle sound in his ears. Connor slumped against the small table, attempting to regain control of his body.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

But he couldn't get that sound out of his head.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

When he looked up, Max was already standing in front of him. “What's wrong?” he asked.

“I.. I just need some fresh air,” Connor said while staggering up to the door.

“Wait, Connor." Max raised his arm to grab his sleeve, but didnt. "Wait a minute. Just.. talk to me.”

“I'm fine, I just need a minute. I'll be right back, okay?”

Max’s eyes darkened, “Yeah… go ahead, I’ll finish here.”

Connor didn't return.